Page 42 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter thirty-nine

Aethan

By the time we make camp that evening, we’ve collected enough woollygoats, frostcats, and blubberseals to fill the supply sleighs.

Spirits are high as we dismount and work to build the camp.

With my magic, I raise several ice-shelters while the hunters build a fire ring.

Within half an hour, there’s a roaring blaze and a spitted carcass rotating above it.

The seasoned scent wafts and mixes with the sharp bite of the wind.

As I approach the circle, Cyrene raises her flask of rum. “To the king!” she shouts. The hunters cheer, toasting in my direction. One of them teeters off his perch on an ice block, already too far into his drink.

“Speech!” someone chants. My ears burn, and I dip my head, scanning the group. The male who turns the spit looks at me, a broad smile on his sharp face. He pounds a fist against his chest. “Speech!”

The other hunters join in the chant, echoing his call. Their heads swivel, eyes fixing on me.

Panic twists my chest into a tight knot. I can’t remember the last time I gave a speech. What do I even say? Today’s hunt was a greater success than I imagined, but not because of anything I did.

I clear my throat. “Our kingdom will eat well, thanks to your skill and bravery.”

I spot Nahla on the opposite side of the fire, bundled in furs and holding a steaming mug. She catches my eye, her gaze reflecting the golden dance of the flames. Air sticks in my lungs, and for a second, I forget to breathe. She’s incredible.

Beautiful. Witty. Powerful. A hero.

This victory belongs to her. Without Nahla’s song, we’d be returning empty-handed, I have no doubt in my mind. My plan would have fallen apart.

Cyrene presses a flask into my hand, and I lift it.

“And to Nahlani Mahelona, Princess of the Brine,” I say. “We are forever in your debt.”

Several eyes flick in her direction, appreciative and curious. As she blushes deeply and dips her head, tucking her cheeks into her cloak, I regret my remark.

No one looks at her like that. Not on my watch.

“To a successful hunt!” I finish through clenched teeth.

The hunters cheer and we drink our liquor. The flask is cold against my lips, but the liquid burns with a welcome heat. I swallow, pulling it into my gullet, and step toward Nahla.

“An excellent speech, Sire,” Cyrene says, sidling next to me and blocking my path. “You did well.”

I grunt. “Thank you.

“We could use a morale booster more often, it seems. Thanks for being here.”

“It’s nothing I’ve done.” I pull more rum from my flask, watching Nahla over the rim. The blush is spreading. Orson approaches her, teetering on drunken legs. “If you’ll excuse me.”

I step around Cyrene and reach Nahla in time to intercept her. Wordlessly, I settle in next to her, placing my body between her and the approaching male. Orson stops in his tracks, snow skidding beneath his feet. Good.

“Don’t tell me you practiced that speech,” Nahla chides. “It was awful.”

Warmth spreads through me at her voice, and I can’t help but grin. “I’ll let you write it next time.”

“Thanks,” she deadpans. Her hand snakes out of her bundle of furs, and she snatches the flask. “This for me?”

Tilting her head, she guzzles the liquor. Her soft neck bobs with each swallow. Eager.

“Easy now,” I caution, trying not to think of what else of mine she might swallow.

She shoots me a look, takes one more swig, and returns the near-empty flask.

I stretch out my legs and settle in. This is nice. Me and her, next to a blazing fire. The sun has dipped beneath the horizon, and the lights of the aethersky emerge, rippling with radiant color among the stars. It’d be fucking romantic, if not for the company of the hunters.

I nudge her with my knee, and she sways playfully. “You did well today, Sunfish,” I say. My chest swells with pride. She did more than well—she was fucking fantastic.

“You know, at home, we hunt sunfish.” Her eyes sparkle as she nudges me back.

“And do you consider that cannibalism?”

“It’s too bad you were born royal.” Her mouth quirks as she flicks her gaze over my sprawling form. “You could’ve made a career out of comedy.”

I laugh—a sudden, loud burst of sound. She jumps, and the low murmur of conversation around us cuts off.

All eyes swivel to me. But I can’t help it.

I can’t stop the laughter rolling from my mouth.

A pinch forms in my side, and I grasp it, bending forward.

My thoughts swim through a booze-drenched haze, and she just said the funniest damn thing I’ve heard in my life.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” I gasp. Saltwater pricks in my eyes, stinging.

She watches me with an incredulous look. Smiling. Goddess, that smile. Is there anything more perfect?

“I’m hilarious,” she says.

“You’re trouble .”

“That’s enough rum for you,” Nahla says, snatching the flask from me again.

“That’s mine,” I growl.

With a grin, I dive for her. My hands reaching, snaring her waist, pinning her.

My legs wrap around her. Within seconds, I wrestle her to the snow, and her hair sprawls around her face.

Her cheeks flush, contradicting the scowl that curls her mouth.

She holds the flask outward, as if she could keep it from me.

She’s cute when she thinks she can best me. I am enormous, compared to her, and my body envelops hers. With a flick of my wrist, I could snap her neck.

I blink, clearing the dark thought.

No.

Guilt pierces my gut like a searing rod. I will never hurt her. I may be a Beast, but never to her.

Gently as I can manage, I cup her hand and fold her arm between us. Her chest heaves with a heavy breath, breasts peeking from the top of her shirt.

“I’m cutting you off,” she snaps as I wiggle the flask free of her grip.

“For what, laughing too hard?”

“Someone needs to take you down a notch.” She glares at me as I take another swig from the flask. She plunges her bare hand into the snow, rustling around for something.

I swallow the liquor, and it burns my throat. Her eyes are piercing, focused. She bites her lip, drawing my attention. Plump, kissable lips.

Does she want me to kiss her?

It’d be so easy. A dip of my head, and I could capture her lips.

Fuck what the hunters think of me. Of us together. She’s mine. Why shouldn’t I claim her right here, for all to see?

Nahla raises her hand, reaching for my face. She wants me. Here. Now. I growl in encouragement as my cock hardens at the ready.

That’s it, Sunfish. Take what you need.

But her hand skates past my cheek. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and then— smack . Cold sludge connects with my cheek, dripping frigid water down my neck.

She laughs, shrill and perfect. “Gotcha!”

I’ve been duped by a princess with a snowball. Like a fresh hatchling, playing in the snow. But two can play this game.

I shake my head, scattering icy droplets. With a swift scoop, I gather snow and pack it into a ball the size of her head.

She squeals and squirms as she tries to wrench herself free.

I dip my head, catching her soft earlobe between my teeth. “I’ll count to three, Princess,” I whisper. “Let’s see how fast you can run.”

She mewls, a melodic little whine of terror, and goddess , my cock grows harder at the sound. I want her to do it again.

I rise to my full height and toss the snowball, catching it in my palm. Waiting.

“One,” I growl.

She scurries away, kicking snow with her frantic feet.

“Two.”

She leaps between two confused hunters, making a dash for the edge of the circle. Her cloak flutters and tucks between her legs. She stutters.

I take aim.

“Three.”

With a snap of my elbow, the snowball spirals through the air toward her fleeing form. It smacks into her ass. White powder explodes, clinging to her cloak. She yelps and skids to a halt.

“Not very fast, are you, Princess?” I call after her.

The hunters chuckle, watching us with sparkling eyes. “Good shot, Sire.”

Nahla scowls and scoops more snow, packing it between her hands. Determination creases her face. “Hey, Lucas, give me a hand, would you?”

The grouchy healer looks up from his drink and twitches his mouth. “Oh, I wouldn’t interfere in royal business, m’lady.”

“You had no trouble interfering yesterday when I was freezing my ass off.”

“Then I believe that puts you in my debt, doesn’t it?” Lucas raises his eyebrow, and Nahla gives up.

She turns to the next hunter in the circle, a young male with shaggy blond hair, the same one I blocked her from earlier. “Orson?”

“I don’t know, Princess,” Orson says, puffing his chest. “It’s guppy’s play. I’m too old for snowball fights.”

“If it’s guppy’s play, would the king be doing it?” She pouts, that irresistible lip curing him in an instant.

Orson shoots me a look, and the tips of my ears burn. A grin spreads on his youthful face. The hunter leans forward and scoops a pile of snow, packing it between his gloves. “If that’s the case…”

He lobs a smacker into my chest.

I snarl. “Play fair, now. This is between you and me, Princess. No fresh recruits.”

“Says who?” She winds the pitch and lobs a slushball. It splats at my feet, a meter shy of her mark.

“Clearly, me,” I grunt. “The best player makes the rules.”

When I throw my next missile, she ducks behind a snoring Vaughn, and the snow wallops him in the neck. With a snort, he wakes and looks about. Nahla trails her flirty fingers across his shoulder and whispers in his ear, too low for me to hear. His eyes narrow, and he packs a snowball.

Smack . Ice slides down my neck. I whirl to find Cyrene studying the sky with intense interest. Nahla laughs, and another snowball collides with my ear. The sludge melts beneath my collar.

She’s turning them against me, one by one.

I find her gaze and pin her with a glare. All right. If she wants to play dirty, so be it. With a clench of my stomach, I summon my magic. My Voice vibrates from my lips, and snow rises around me, twisting and compacting into perfect missiles.

Nahla shrieks and bolts. But I am inevitable. I flick my tongue, sending the snowballs flying in all directions—one each for Cyrene, Vaughn, and Orson, and the rest toward her. Nahla sinks to her knees, pulling the cloak to cover her head. Snow batters my opponents in rapid fire.

“Oy!” shouts Cyrene. “No fair!”

The remaining hunters rally. Soon enough, a camp-wide snowball fight ensues—the entire hunting party versus me. The snow pelts me, smacking against my face, hair, ears, and chest. I erect a quick snow-shield to block the worst of their attacks.

“Cheater!” Nahla cries out. Her voice pierces the air, and the hunters’ protests follow.

Snowballs fly. Laughter roars. I fight until my muscles burn and my magic drains to its end, leaving a hollow pit in my stomach. With shit aim, I lob my final blow and collapse in a booze-drenched heap. Happy.